


When the Night Kills the Day

by benedictine



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Stoker & Holmes
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Historical, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictine/pseuds/benedictine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing ever happens in Bromley Cove -- or at least that's what people thought before a young girl turned up dead in a tool shed.  And not just dead, but with curious puncture wounds upon her neck.  Sounds like the perfect case for Mina Holmes and Eva Stoker -- niece of Sherlock and sister of Bram, respectively.  Together, they escape the London fog and venture into the English countryside, where mysteries of the landed gentry and its dark underworld collide.  Would Mina and Eva survive, or would the darkness claim them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Somewhere in England, 1912

To say that nothing ever happened in the small village of Bromley Cove would be an understatement.  Indeed, Bromley Cove proved to be a quiet and sleepy enclave, with nary a peculiarity to be seen or heard for miles.  The townspeople of Bromley simply went about their business as usual and kept to themselves.  Yes, there was the occasional drifter who passed through the town on his way to the seaside ports – but aside from that, nothing else ever seemed to happen.  At least, nothing strange.

It was with this thought that young Robbie Turner comforted himself when he left his tiny but cozy cottage to tend to the gardens, as he did every morning.  This morning, however, seemed to be quite different from the moment he stepped out.  The early morning mist had cast an eerie fog so thick, Robbie found it hard to see where he was going.  Lucky for him, Robbie knew his way around Bromley like the back of his hand.  This fortunate knowledge of the ins and outs of Bromley Cove would turn out, it would seem, to be most unfortunate indeed.  For when Robbie Turner crossed the grounds to which he must tend, he stumbled over something he knew could not have there the previous day.  

As he fell, Robbie had noticed that the “thing” which had obstructed his path (rather annoyingly, too) had felt much too large to have been a forgotten garden tool left out of the shed.  Indeed, as soon as the fog lifted, Robbie’s instincts would prove right.  What greeted his eyes, then, was not any tool which could  ever  be used for topiary purposes, but that of a young girl lying on the dewy grass, covered in blood 

Robbie Turner dropped the keys in his hand and ran.

*******    

_ “Aha! Gotcha!” _

Mina  Holmes crawled out from under the kitchen table, holding a bullet between her forefinger and thumb, which he held aloft against the soft light above.

“What have you got, dear?”

Mina jumped slightly at the question, upon which she turned around to find Mrs Raskill entering the flat with a tray.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.  I’ve just come to bring your tea.”

At this,  Mina stood up, composing herself.  “Me, startled?  Hardly, Mrs Raskill.  I was merely picking this bullet up from under the table.”  

“Whatever are you doing with a bullet?”

“Why, testing it, of course, Mrs Raskill!” she answered as if she’d just been asked a ridiculous question.

“Testing?” the landlady repeated as she watched her tenant move ffrantically past her into the sitting room, searching under the cushions.

Ignoring her,  Mina muttered under her breaths she searched.  “Where is it?  Where is it?”

“Where’s what, de--“

_“A-ha!”_   Mina once again popped her head from behind the couch along the far wall, which he had shifted from its position, and held up a small revolver.  “Beatrice, oh how I have missed you!”  Sh e happily landed a kiss smack against the gun’s barrel.

“ Oh no…you’re not doing _that_ again!”

“Doing what again, Mrs. Raskill?”  Mina asked innocently, despite knowing all too well what she was talking about.

“You are  _not _ shooting bullets through my throw pillows again!”

“I’m not!”

“You’re not?”  Mrs Raskill doubtfully repeated, cocking an eyebrow.

“Of course not,”  Mina answered evenly.  “I’m shooting bullets through the couch cushions.”

At this, the landlady’s eyes widened.  “B-but…the neighbours —!”

“I’m sure the neighbours will be absolutely fine, Mrs Raskill,” he said, shooing her away towards the door, which he opened for her .

“I’m  really am going to have a word with your mother about this…”

“You go and do that, Mrs Raskill.  I'm afraid it won't do you much good with her all the way in Paris, now will it?"

The landlady stood  on the other side of the threshold, mouth open as if she were about to speak but instead stared at her charge, stupefied as to what to say .

"Now off you go, pip-pip!” Mina quickly shut the door closed and abruptly spun around on his heel.   She let out a sigh, and stepped away from the door and back into the room, expertly loading Beatrice's barrel.  "And now, Beatrice, old girl," she muttered to herself, "let's see what we see, eh?"

Bending over the couch, she lined up the pillows, one behind the other as if each were mean t to cushion the other's fall.  Once satisfied with their position, Mina took a few steps back and cocked the revolver, readying her aim at the pillows before her.   If all goes well, this could be the break in the case she'd been waiting for.  She drew her breath and let it out sharply, steeling herself.   It's now or never.  _Ready...aim...fi--_ __

_ Rii -ii- ing! _ Drat -- the doorbell.  

"I'll get that!" cried Mrs Raskill, as if Mina would have interrupted the nearly six-hour marathon she'd spent in her quarters working on this bloody case and done so herself.  

Mina sighed and, frustrated, swiftly unloaded the still-cold gun in her hand.  Any minute now, she would have to play gracious host to whomever had so rudely interrupted her.  She started the familiar countdown:  _...three, two, one. _

Without missing a beat, Mrs Raskill  opened the door.  "It's Inspector Grayling, Miss."

"Tell him to go away!" Mina exclaimed.  "I'm busy."

"But he says it's important business--"

"Mrs Raskill, what could possibly be more important than the case I'm working on?" Mina scoffed, exasperated.

"Perhaps a case where a young girl was found dead in a remote village in the North."

At Grayling's voice, Mina turned around.  "Dead?"  She looked at him squarely in the eyes, which kept their own respective gaze steadily on her.  He wasn't lying, that's for certain.  Then again, coppers from Scotland Yard rarely ever lie, though you can never tell these days.  Especially when it comes to coppers like Ambrose Grayling.

"Yes," he answered evenly.  "Found this morning in a gardener's tool shed.  Gave the local young man rather a fright, apparently."

"Really now?"  Mina had to admit she was slightly intrigued, but not enough to pull her off her current case just yet.  "Where exactly did you say this was?"

"I didn't.  It happened at Bromley Cove."

"Ah, yes," Mina noted, "that sleepy little village known for their caverns."

"Yes, that's the one," Grayling confirmed.  "We -- that is, Inspector  Luckworth  and I -- thought you might warm up to this case, being that it would seem to fall under your, erm, _line of expertise_.  That is, yourself and Miss Stoker's."

"Despite appearances, Inspector Grayling, I haven't warmed up to it quite yet, thank you very much."

Grayling frowned.  "Whyever not?"

"Well, first of all, I'm still working on the Donahue case -- or  was, until you rang that blasted doorbell.  And secondly, if I were to take this one on, I should think I would need to consult Miss Stoker on the matter, wouldn't you agree?"

"But I already did."

"What?" 

"I called on Miss Stoker at her residence earlier today and she's already agreed."

"Agreed?" Mina repeated.  "You mean without telling me?"  She was already pushed to height of annoyance.

"Well, she thought you'd take it once you knew about the puncture wounds."

"Puncture wounds?"

"On the girl's neck.  There were puncture wounds found on the girl's neck," Grayling stated matter-of-factly.

At this, Mina dropped her beloved Beatrice, which luckily landed on a fallen couch cushion.  Puncture wounds.   _On her neck_ _._  It could only mean one thing.

"Miss Holmes?" Grayling stood awkwardly as Mina stood there, looking rather mystified.  "Miss Holmes?"

Mina blinked at the sound of her name, snapping out of her daze.  "I'll take it."

Now it was Grayling's turn to blink -- only this time, in disbelief.  "What, just like that?"

"Just like that!"

"And you're not even going to tell me why?"

Mina picked up the revolver, stroking it possessively.  "Sorry, Beatrice.  Perhaps another time."  She stowed it away in a drawer in her desk, and then padded purposefully toward her changing screen, grabbing a cloak which had been draped rather haphazardly over it.

"Miss Holmes?" Grayling urged once again.  

"Oh, you _are_ an Inspector, aren't you?" she said as she secured the cloak around her.  "Figure it out."

Just as Grayling opened his mouth in reply, Mrs Raskill opened the doorway once again, this time entering with an extra teacup for the young man.  

"Staying for dinner, Inspector?"

"I--"

""No, he's not," Mina interrupted.  "And neither am I, for that matter."

"Not even for a cuppa?" the housekeeper insisted.  

"No time for tea, Mrs.  Raskill  -- the game's afoot!"  Mina hurriedly gathered her things, cramming it all in what looked like an overnight bag.

"Hold on," Grayling said, finally speaking up.  "What about the Donahue case?  Not one minute ago, you were keen on finishing it."

"Yes," Mrs Raskill chimed in.   "Not to mention keen on destroying my cushions!"

"And miss this? Mina sniffed.  "Certainly not."  She redirected her gaze intently at Grayling once more.  "As I said, are you not also a detective...somewhat?"     


Grayling furrowed his brow and tittered annoyedly at the comment.  

"Do the math: a sleepy village, a dead girl with puncture wounds on her neck?  Why else would Miss Stoker not only agree to it so eagerly, but know that I would too?  Oh, that _was_ clever of her... "

Both Grayling and Mrs Raskill merely shook their heads.

Mina rolled her eyes.   _"Vampires!"_  With that, s he flung her bag over her shoulder and headed out the door.

The two left in the room exchanged glances.  

"A chip off the ol' Holmes block, she is, " Mrs. Raskill commented.

"Yes."  Grayling smirked, his eyes on the doorway through which Mina had swiftly exited.  "So it would seem."


	2. Hello

Evaline Stoker could hear her heart beating uncontrollably as she sped through the forest.

She pumped her legs, willing them to go faster, fighting the urge to look back. She had no recollection of how she got there or why. Where am I? she wondered as she started to come to the realization that she was obscured in darkness. There were no trees in sight, only a vast expanse around her, and she struggled to get up.

"Hello?" she called out into the void.

"Hello, Evie," a voice answered behind her.

The raven-haired beauty spun her head around only to see a monstrous, yet beautiful face staring back at her. "D-Do I know you?"

"No," the dark figure answered, "but I know you."

"What do you want?" Evie demanded, slowly inching away from him. She felt the stake in the pockets of her skirts, her fingers tightening their grip.

"Now, now," the voice softened, trying to reassure her. "I only want your blood, that's all."

Fearful now, Evie turned on her heel and ran as fast as she could, determined to escape the darkness that increasingly closed in on her. It was all she could do to keep her wits about her. Just as she thought she was out of reach from the thing chasing her, she suddenly tripped on the exposed root of a tree. She cursed under her breath, hoping against hope that the creature had not gained on her. She turned around, the utter realisation of her mistake written on her face.

Her screams echoed through the trees.

*******

_"Evie?"_

Evaline woke with a start as the steamer-train gave a lurch forward. Sweat matted on her brow, Evie's eyes surveyed her surroundings and immediately she calmed as she saw Mina Holmes sat across from her in what clearly looked like a train compartment.

Mina's own brows were knitted in concern for her waking companion. "Evie?" she repeated. "Are you quite all right?"

Evie positioned herself upright, attempting to regain her composure. "Yes," she replied. "I'm quite fine." Her eyes wandered to the passing scenery outside the windows. Well, not quite yet.

"You were stirring in your sleep, mumbling something I couldn't make out."

"I was?"

Mina nodded her head in confirmation.

"I had the most horrible vision, Mina," Evie confessed.

"What was it? What did you see?"

Evie shook her head, unsure herself of what she had seen. "'Twas the most peculiar thing."

"What was peculiar?" Mina urged.

"I think I saw him."

"Who?"

"The vampire."

At this, Mina's brows flew up. "You mean the one we're looking for? The one that killed the girl?"

Evie didn't say anything in response, only merely nodded. "But that wasn't what was peculiar about it," she continued. "In my dream, I was..."

"Yes...?"

"I wasn't quick enough, not as usual. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't seem to get away from him." Evie's brows furrowed at the thought.

"So what could this mean, then?"

"I think it means we could be dealing with something very different." Evie's eyes widened, with Mina's own mirroring the same action, and for a while the two sat there, pondering the mystery that was to greet them upon their arrival in Bromley.

After a few moments, their stunned silence was interrupted by a self-operating trolley, which stopped conveniently outside their compartment door, carrying sweeties and other such snacks. Noticing the trolley, Mina finally spoke up and broke the silence.

"Perhaps some refreshment will do us good," she suggested as her companion nodded in agreement.

With that, the two girls got up from their seats and took their pick of the lot. Once they were seated again and the trolley made its way down the passage and onto the next compartment, Mina and Evie continued their musings, this time steering the conversation in a different direction.

"So," Evie began as she started on a piece of chocolate, "what else do we know about Bromley Cove? Other than the fact that it already seems a rather foreboding place, that is."

"I'm afraid it doesn't get any better," Mina warned. "Bromley Cove is most famously known to tourists for the legend of the Bromley Caverns."

"The Bromley Caverns?" the other repeated.

"Yes, it's--" Just as Mina was about to explain, the train suddenly halted to a stop.

The two immediately turned their attention to the windows, where they noticed they had stopped at a train station. Through the train's rising steam, they could just make out the sign of the stop on the platform below:

BROMLEY COVE

They had finally arrived.

*******

The train let out one last jet of steam, with a loud _shish!_ , at which the two girls gathered their belongings and exited onto the platform. Setting their bags down and smoothing down their cloaks and skirts, they searched among the throng of passengers now making their way onto the platform for the person Grayling had said would meet them. After a moment or so, a tall and rather portly figure seemed to make his way towards them.

"Hello, ladies," the man greeted them. "Apologies for not being here earlier. I'm Constable Marlowe." He took off his hat and bowed his head reverently to each of the girls.

"Pleasure to meet you, Constable," Mina spoke. "Alvermina Holmes. And this is my partner, Evaline Stoker."

At the mention of her name, Evie smiled politely. "How do you do, Constable?"

"Very well, thank you, Miss Stoker," Marlowe replied. "I trust you girls had a good trip?"

The two girls exchanged quick glances.

"More than words could say, really," Evie said, feigning another polite smile. She tried to shake the memory of her nightmare earlier.

Marlowe peered at the two girls, whose changed manner seemed to belie that of concern at his question. He cocked an eyebrow curiously. Perhaps he was just imagining things. "Yes. Well. Shall I fetch you a porter for your things?"

"Yes, thank you," the girls replied in earnest, relieved to be done with the awkwardness as Marlowe approached a young man nearby.

As the man came along with a trolley and loaded it with the girls' bags, Marlowe began to lead them out of the station, motioning for them to follow him. "I must say, your reputations precede you both. When Inspector Grayling telephoned and informed me that the case was to be put in your hands, I was quite relieved, considering the -- er, rather special circumstances."

"Quite," Mina agreed amiably.

"I believe you are at an advantage, Constable." Evie started, "as you seem to know much about us, and yet we so little about you and your village." Both she and Marlowe chuckled.

Mina turned to her companion and raised an eyebrow, amused. Not even five minutes in Bromley, and already Evie was putting it on. Perhaps it's just as well she play Miss Social Butterfly and do a little reconnaissance, as Mina planned on doing some reconnaissance of her own -- by way of Observation, of course.

"Yes, well, not much to know, really," Marlowe humbly stated as they finally found their way outside the station and onto the roadside, where a hansom cab a waited them. He gestured for the porter to load their bags, and tipped him with a shilling when the young man was done. He opened the cab door for the girls and then followed inside. "As you can imagine, there's not much work for us coppers in a sleepy lil' village. In fact, apart from the tourists who come for the caverns, this case has been about the most exciting thing that's happened to us in years -- though I wouldn't exactly call this exciting. Horrible tragedy, this is."

Again, the two girls exchanged glances.

"So," Marlowe continued, attempting to change the conversation, "where to first, ladies?"

"Take us to her," replied Mina instantly.

 

_"Take us to the dead girl."_


	3. Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that upon original publication, yours truly inadvertently omitted the first portion of this chapter; I have since recovered and added it. I hope you'll excuse the momentary blunder, and enjoy the chapter in its entirety! (Also, read and review, etc., should you feel compelled to - you know the drill.)

*

The village of Bromley Cove lay in the heart of Yorkshire County, not too far from nearby York, which was practically considered a city in comparison.  The settlement of Bromley Cove (as well as most of its population's ancestry) could be traced all the way back to the days of William the Conqueror; its surrounding countryside had seen many gruesome yet glorious battles, as well as undergone various changes to its landscape over the course of centuries.  Despite its close proximity to what some might call 'proper civilization,' many of the village's inhabitants preferred to bask in the peaceful seclusion that Bromley provided -- and indeed, took comfort in it.  For in that comfort, felt the villagers, there was a sense of community.  However, from the day young Robbie Turner had found a dead girl lying by his shed, that same sense of community was shaken to its very core, and Bromley Cove found itself in the middle of a different kind of battle -- one it did not yet know how to fight.

As Constable Marlowe was regaling the girls with tales of the village and its history, Mina Holmes gazed out of the window, the hansom cab giving a slight lurch backward as it made its way slowly up a hill.  They were entering the village proper now, leaving the rolling countryside that had greeted them earlier that morning behind them.  As they passed through the main square, Mina's eyes fell upon what looked like the local public house.  She perked up in her seat, peering curiously at the pub's entrance where a stout, middle-aged man in an apron stood, smoking a cigarette and watching passersby.

"Ah, the Biltmore Arms," Marlowe said, noticing where Mina had just turned her attention.  "That's where you'll both be staying.  I've had Tom, the innkeeper, put you up for two rooms."

At this, Evie too turned her attention out the same window as the others, while Marlowe continued.  

"The Arms are so-called after Lord Biltmore, the village's own Earl.  He and the Countess, Lady Biltmore, have their own castle not too far from the village.  In fact, 'swhere we're going right now."

"I thought we were going to Mr Turner's cottage?" Evie asked, confused.

"We are," Marlowe confirmed.

"I'm sorry," Mina interrupted.  "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

"Didn't I tell you?"

Both girls shook their heads.

"Mr Turner's the keeper at Biltmore.  His cottage is on the grounds of the castle, just a little ways off by the woods."

"The woods, you say?" Evie repeated, remembering her dream.

"Why, yes," Marlowe confirmed nonchalantly.  "And, if you're lucky, I daresay you might even get to meet Lord and Lady Biltmore themselves."

Before either one of the girls had their chance to respond, the hansom cab had slowed to a stop, the gravel of the long driveway crunching under its wheels.  

As the two girls made their way out the cab, their feet and fine skirts once again touching ground, they looked up to find themselves in the presence of an imposing, ivy-covered mansion.  Both Mina and Evie stood in silence, awe-struck at the sight before them.

"Here we are, now, ladies," Marlowe exclaimed, cutting into the last few minutes' silence.  "Biltmore House."  

As if conjured by magic at the constable's words, two footmen emerged from within the grand estate and assisted the driver with the girls' luggage.  The girls, for their part, remained where they were, despite the sudden torrent of activity about them.  

Mina's eyes darted upwards towards the castle's third floor, where, in one of the wide windows, a shadowy figure stood.  She blinked again -- as if by doing so, the figure's foggy features would suddenly become clearer.  Alas, it was all to no avail; for once Mina opened her eyes, the shadow by the window had all but vanished.  Mina continued to stare at the now empty window frame, waiting for the shadow to return, but her concentration was quickly interrupted by the constable's voice.

"Come, now," Marlowe called.  "Let's not dawdle, shall we?"

Mina broke her gaze from the window and joined him and Evie as they walked toward the huge double doors at the entrance, one of which had already been opened.  Standing at the threshold stood a tall man in livery, whom they all could only presume was the butler.  

"Come in, ladies," the butler greeted.  "You are expected."

***

Just like the village in which it is cozily ensconced, Biltmore House has had a long and storied past.  Built in the 1490s as a gift from Sir William Arthur Biltmore, the first Earl, to his new wife Catherine, it has since seen many additions to its ancient Gothic structure -- from its beautiful stained-glass work, to Bishop’s Folly on the grounds out by the cliffs, to even the various gargoyles which lined the House’s rooftops.  Perhaps the most notable of these changes was the building’s adaptation into a small seminary for children, which was established in 1890, some 200 years after the structure was built.  

As the girls entered the castle, they marvelled at the seemingly endless parquet-tiled floor and warm, wood-paneled walls of Biltmore’s Grand Entrance Hall.  So distracted were they by the castle’s grandeur that they failed to notice the butler, Barton, awaiting them at the far side of the room.  He cleared his throat.  

“This way, ladies.”  His gaze travelled across the grand foyer and onto the good constable.  “And, of course, er... _sir_.”  He led them down what appeared to be a private library, housing an immense collection of books.  

Despite themselves, both Evie and Mina stared in awe.  

“Constable Marlowe and Misses Evaline Stoker and Alvermina Holmes to see you, m’lord.”

The girls’ gazes quickly turned from the books toward two figures just a few feet before them.  By the desk, clad in a sensible brown tweed suit, sat a rather handsome man, presumably Lord Biltmore himself.  Standing next to him was a tall, elegant woman, dressed rather stylishly -- the Countess, no doubt.  Upon Barton’s announcement, the Earl looked up and immediately turned in his seat, his face brightening.

“Ah, Marlowe,” he said, greeting the constable with a certain familiar warmth.  “Good to see you.”  So as to get a better look at the other arrivals, Biltmore turned himself around, away from his mahogany desk.  It was a motion which actually involved turning around the seat itself, by way of two large wheels at either side of its base, revealing a wheelchair.  

At this, the two girls exchanged glances, neither one more surprised than Mina, who silently cursed herself for not noticing the wheels earlier, only to then immediately feel guilty afterward for thinking so.  

“Surprised?”  Noticing his guests’ collective discomfort, Lord Biltmore’s voice pierced the momentary silence.  At this, the girls, to whom this question was addressed, quickly rushed to their polite excuses.  

“Oh no, sir-- !”

“Not at all-- !”

It was here that Biltmore let out a booming peal of laughter, its echoes through the library’s high-vaulted chamber giving off an almost-eerie effect.  Evie and Mina balked at this, not sure as to how to react.  Another moment of uncomfortable silence followed.

“You must excuse Edward,” the Countess said, her genteel voice slicing through the silence.  “As you will hopefully come to understand, his situation has given him a rather _macabre_ sense of humor.  Might I introduce myself?  I’m Lady Vera Biltmore.”

Biltmore cut in.  “And I’m sure you’ll have deduced by now that I am Lord Biltmore himself.”  He offered them a warm smile.  “But you can call me Sir Edward.”

At this, the girls attempted to return the friendly gesture with a pair of smiles of their own.  “Yes,” Mina ventured to answer, “I daresay we rather deduced that for ourselves.”

“Yes, well, Vera is right in some respects -- what she refers to as my ‘situation’ has certainly led me to have a different perspective on things.  Though I daresay she exaggerates in her commentary.   _Macabre_ , indeed!”  He glances playfully at his wife, which she returned with a knowing smirk.  

“Well, talking of the _macabre_ ,” Mina spoke up, “I hope you don’t consider us rude if we ask about--”

“Ah, yes,” Biltmore interrupted.  “Of course.  I’m sure you two are just brimming over with curiosity by now.”

“Yes,” Evie said in reply.  “We’re practically bursting at the seams, if you’ll excuse the phrase.”

“Of course, of course,” Biltmore responded.  “Shall we?”  He extended his arm towards the wide open double-doors through which his guests had entered.  

Mina shot a glance toward Evie, her face brightening up at the prospect, and looking far too excited.  “Lead the way.”

*** 

The grounds of Biltmore House were just as lush and expansive as the Manor itself.  With perennials of every color imaginable dotting every bit of green as they went, both Mina and Evie resumed the expressions of awestruck wonderment which they had worn upon their entrance into the estate.  

“As you can see, our gardens are very well-tended and, of course, rather considered as a point of pride here at Biltmore,” Lady Biltmore said as they all made their way down a grey stone-block path around the House, presumably toward the garden shed.  “Particularly, for young Turner, our groundskeeper.”  

“So you can imagine his thoughts as he came upon--” Biltmore stopped himself for a moment.  “Well, you’ll soon see for yourselves, eh?”

And so they did, for not a couple of moments later, they arrived at the terrible sight of which they had just spoken.  There, lying dead among a bed of roses, was the girl herself -- the one they had heard so much about since their journey to Bromley Cove that morning.  Evie and Mina stood silently, once again awestruck -- but for altogether different reasons.  What shocked the pair was not the sight of death itself (for death had certainly become a familiar presence in their work), but the plain fact that the lifeless body on the ground before them was visibly young; a teenager, just as they were, the presence -- or lack thereof -- of life-giving blood the only difference between them.  How peculiar, that such a thing could hold so much power.

From where they stood, the girls could see that the body had rather hastily been cordoned off, no doubt in an effort to keep wandering students at bay.  As if reading their minds, Constable Marlowe spoke up for the first time since their arrival at the estate.

“We weren’t sure what to do with the body till you got here, you see, so we did the best we could.  As I told you this morning, we’re not used to cases like this here in Bromley.”

“That’s quite all right, Constable,” reassured Mina.  She took out a magnifying glass from her cloak’s inside pocket.  “May I?”

“Please.”

Mina stepped under the rope and proceeded to examine the girl, as Evie and the rest of the group looked on.  Mina bent over the body and got a closer glimpse of the girl’s pallid face, which gazed back with the wide-eyed expression it had undoubtedly worn at the time of death.  The girl’s lips seemed intensified with red against the almost ghostly white of her skin.  Elsewhere upon her person, Mina could see that the girl was covered in a copious amount of blood, so much so that even parts of her skirts bore trails of the dripping red liquid, now dried to a dark, burgundy shade.  On her neck, just as Grayling had described, were indeed two very deep puncture wounds, as if sharp metal prongs had penetrated it.  Mina ran her magnifying glass over it, examining it closer.

“Curious,” she said, to no one in particular.  “Very curious.”  

For her part, Evie stared at the young corpse before them, vacillating between utter horror and complete fascination.   _Could it be_ ? she wondered.   _Could it be...a vampire?_  In all her years hearing firsthand accounts from her brother, she had never seen one herself.  Might this be it?  Evie glanced over at Mina, pondering whether she too wondered the same.  As the young Mina Holmes continued her observations, Biltmore took it upon himself to recount his reports on the case.

“When Turner had come to me about the girl and related how he’d found her here, I was baffled, naturally.  We’ve never had anyone from outside the school come through the grounds before.  Especially not anyone who turned up, well...dead.”

“No previous cases of trespassing?” Mina asked.

“None to speak of, no.”

“Not even children from the village, perhaps?”

At this, Marlowe chuckled wryly.  “My dear, there may not be a lot to do here in Bromley, but rest assured that nothing of that sort goes on here.”

Mina turned to the Biltmores, both of whom nodded in confirmation.  

“As you’ll soon find out,” Biltmore said, “There is a difference in the way children from the village behave compared to our children here at the seminary, and generally each group keeps to itself.”

“I see,” Mina responded, though clearly getting the feeling that she was missing something.  However, as quick as the thought had come, she shook it off, turning her attention back to the task at hand.  “And what of our girl here?  No one else was with her?”

“No,” continued Marlowe.  “Not one indication that anyone was with her at the time.”  

“At least,” interrupted Biltmore, “according to Turner.”

"I see," Mina replied.

Here, Marlowe spoke, his interest naturally piqued at the mention of the young keeper:  “And where might we find Mr Turner?”

At this, the Biltmores and Constable Marlowe collectively turned towards Barton, who had come along with them and was now standing to the far end where the garden path started, clearly uncomfortable with his presence there.  

Lady Biltmore took it upon herself to address the butler.  “Barton?”

Barton straightened too, clearing his throat.  “I believe, Mr Turner is down in the kitchens, m'lady -- where he has been since this morning.  He seemed badly shaken, so Mrs Bunting thought it best to fix him a spot of tea.”

“Yes, of course,” Lady Biltmore replied, turning to the girls with a furrowed brow.  "Well, could you please ask Mrs Bunting to go ahead and lay down two more places for t--"

" _Actually--"_ It was then that Evie, who’d been relatively silent since their arrival at the gardens, spoke up.  “On second thoughts, perhaps we shan’t bother Mr Turner for the moment.”  Once more, she was to play the Social Butterfly -- if with a bit more effort on her part, given the rather grotesque nature of their circumstances, and particularly, their surroundings.  "That is, if he is as in bad of a way as Barton suggests."

“A-Are you girls quite sure?” Vera asked.  “It really is no imposition.  After all, it’s what you’re here for, is it not?”

“You're quite right, Lady Biltmore,” Evie continued, throwing a surreptitious glance at Mina, who thankfully seemed to pick up on the hint.  “However, we must insist.”

"Y-Yes," Mina chimed in, "we insist.  Perhaps a tour of the Seminary and the grounds might serve us better."

Lord and Lady Biltmore each exchanged glances.  

"Well, all right," Lady Biltmore finally said.  "If you’re sure?”

“We’re sure.”

At this, Barton cleared his throat once again.  "Madam, if I may -- the classes are still in session, are they not?  Perhaps it is unwise to disrupt them--"

"Nonsense," Lady Biltmore interrupted, "I'm sure the girls could use a welcome distraction.  In any case, we shan't take too long."

Barton bowed his head respectfully.  "Very good, m'lady."  He turned to the rest of the group.  "This way."  And with that, the Earl and his butler led the rest of the group back down the stone-block path to the House, single-file, looking quite like a band of soldiers all in a row.  


End file.
